A Eulogy for Urinetown

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It shall forever live in the hearts and minds of those who created it and those who came to watch it. It was a strange little show, full of quirks and its own special problems. But the only problem the family of cast members faced as the audience applauded their bows for the last time was when they would see each other next: for some it would be later that week, perhaps for others it would be never again.

In the end it matters not if the show was good or great: those of us in it loved it for what it was. It is the poor actor’s opiate, better than common drugs or booze: the thrill and challenge of creating that brief spark of life on stage that all too quickly flickers away and is gone.

There will always be another show, but it will be that: another show. For what it was there will never be another one quite like it. The next may borrow lightly or steal shamelessly from previous productions—truly some shows are more predisposed to that than others—but it will be a new incarnation, a different life. Perhaps as a suitable metaphor for life itself, theater exists but for a brief time, to be witnessed by those around it, touch the lives of those involved in it, and then dismantle itself to make way for the next.

To those involved in this production of Urinetown: I adore you all. You have made my life better for being a part of it. I look forward to our next chance encounter or deliberate juncture.